With the Labour Day weekend now behind us, we are into the start of the unofficial New Year. September has always felt more like a New Year to me than January, likely because of the many changes it brings. Young children are starting school, older students are off to University, summer exploits are behind us as lawn chairs and camping gear are packed away for another year. A new season of meetings and activities is starting, fresh TV episodes are starting to air and, in general, there is a sense of purpose in the air.

With the Labour Day weekend now behind us, we are into the start of the unofficial New Year. September has always felt more like a New Year to me than January, likely because of the many changes it brings. Young children are starting school, older students are off to University, summer exploits are behind us as lawn chairs and camping gear are packed away for another year. A new season of meetings and activities is starting, fresh TV episodes are starting to air and, in general, there is a sense of purpose in the air.

Although it is felt most acutely in the autumn, change is regularly occurring throughout our lives. I was reminded of that this past month as we emptied and renovated a neglected storage area in our basement. Box after box in the crowded room held long-forgotten treasures. Alongside the Christmas decorations and old tax receipts there were numerous signs of former hobbies and pastimes. An old 12-string guitar, partially completed craft projects and dusty art supplies detailed changes in our interests and attention spans. Remnants of outdated materials from past business ventures highlighted former ambitions, while old cans of paint and disassembled light fixtures documented our changing tastes and the evolving uses of various rooms over the years. Bins of stuffed toys and boxes of old games and puzzles recalled a much earlier time in our children’s lives.

Every item signified change of one sort or other. In many cases, the belongings stowed away by the “former you” in most cases no longer fit the “current you”. Just as you’re unlikely to wear the old suit in the corner of your closet or repaint your living room with that 2003 shade of Weimaraner Brown, once an object has ceased being of current importance to us, it is probably time to let it go and move on. We are no longer the people we once were, as much as we try to pretend otherwise.

Some 2,500 years ago the Greek philosopher Heraclitus stated “the only constant in life is change”, so this is not a new concept for modern sensibilities. Change is not necessarily a good or a bad thing, although the saying “a change is as good as a rest” has a certain amount of truth to it. How do we deal with life’s changes? Do we embrace them? Regret them? Fear them? Ignore them? Time rolls on. Next week will bring another change, and next month more changes yet. What’s fairly certain is that the world isn’t going to stop changing just to make us happy. I should do what I can to make the most of it.

I recently returned from a gathering at our old family farm. The occasion was the pending auction sale for my brother who had recently sold the land in anticipation of retirement, so my siblings and I had gathered to bid the place one last farewell.

I recently returned from a gathering at our old family farm. The occasion was the pending auction sale for my brother who had recently sold the land in anticipation of retirement, so my siblings and I had gathered to bid the place one last farewell.

My Dad had established the farm in the early 1940's and my parents spent the next thirty-some years raising their eight children there before retiring into town in the mid-seventies. Dad continued to operate the farm over the next few years until my older brother decided to take over the operation in the early eighties. So as we assembled for the auction, we were seeing the collected paraphernalia of two lifetimes worth of farm life laid out before us. As expected, aside from the newer farm equipment and a couple of sets of old wooden wagon wheels, there was little on display that was valuable, collectible, or even noteworthy - no "antiques in the attic" here. What remained was utilitarian and largely obsolete.

As we explored the largely empty outbuildings following the sale, one item that caught our attention was a child's car seat from the fifties - likely acquired for one of my older sisters. This light-weight cloth and metal-framed contraption simply hung on the seat back and seemed, in the event of an accident, as being far more likely to provide a convenient launching pad for a child than providing any type of restraint!

The improbable design of the car seat caused a good chuckle among the older of us, and looks of horror from the young adults. This led to further discussions about the precarious natures of our collective childhoods. One of which was my oldest sister recounting the time she had decided to check to see if the car door was locked as they drove into town (it wasn't). She was fairly certain that she had picked herself up off the road and was back on her feet by the time Dad had stopped the car! My older siblings also recalled playing catch with me in the living room. However, with me being the youngest of the children by a fair margin, my role wasn't that of throwing partner, but rather as the projectile (again more looks of horror among the young parents, although I'm sure it sounded worse than it was). This led to even more reminiscences among those of us in attendance.

On the way home that night, I recalled a similar evening 36 years previous in the same farmyard where my Dad's siblings had organized a family reunion. As my aunts, uncles and numerous cousins - who had mostly grown up within a mile of our farm in the fifties and sixties - gathered together, the evening ended with a number of them swapping "remember when" stories in the living room. Naturally, many of the stories we had heard before, but that didn't lessen the enjoyment of hearing it anew. A few of us younger folk hung out around the edge of the room as one tale led to the next, until the sun eventually poked up over the horizon the following morning.

What is it about family and shared experiences and people gathering to tell and listen to stories that most of them already know? Perhaps it's because that each time we hear them we're in a different stage of our own lives and can relate differently to the stories (as with the young parents and the car seat mentioned above). So sometimes we take away humour, sometimes wisdom, sometimes caution, almost always pleasure.